


my shoes were not made to run (and i need to run up that hill)

by maybewewererotten



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), M/M, Slow Burn, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, no beta we die like men, religious trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24416779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybewewererotten/pseuds/maybewewererotten
Summary: “I want to leave,” Eddie said, flicking another pebble over the ledge, waiting to see if he would hear it splash into the quarry. It didn’t.“Then let’s go,” Richie responded, matter-of-factly.“How can you just say that?”“Why not?” Richie looked confused. “You're miserable here. I’m miserable that you're miserable. Boom boom, bam bam, we’re out of here and our problems are gone.”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	my shoes were not made to run (and i need to run up that hill)

**Author's Note:**

> Please excuse any misalignments with dates for things like music releases and such, I checked the best I could, but I knew there might be something I missed, so I will be keeping it vague.
> 
> Thank you, and enjoy!

Eddie stared up through the cracks of his bed frame at the threadbare underside of his mattress. His eyes burned, but he couldn’t draw them away from the empty void, letting his mind create neon and bold swirls and shapes against the empty air. 

_ Was this what being high was like? _

He would have to ask Richie later. 

_ Later? _

Maybe. 

The thought slipped his mind as he felt his hands growing numb under his head, and the same was happening for his feet which were wedged between two storage boxes, in an attempt to fit in the shrinking space. He really was too old to be doing this. It started when his died dad.

They got back from the funeral, a small gathering of a few family members and friends, before dinner, but his mother had gone straight to her room without a word. There was no  _ “make sure to wash your hands”  _ or  _ “change before your clothes get wrinkled”. _ Sonia had ruffled his hair, an uncharacteristic display of affection, and left him in the little hallway near the door. 

He stood in the hallway for a few minutes, staring at the place she had been standing.

_ Was she going to cook? _

___Was she going to eat?_

Eddie realized he wasn’t very hungry anyway, and hoped she would stay in her room the rest of the night. 

Before Frank was gone (not died, gone), they had family dinners every night. His mother said that was important, would ramble about the family and wellness magazines she read every morning that told her the key to a happy family was a family dinner. They weren’t really happy, even when they were eating together. 

He followed his mother up the stairs, stopping again to stare at her close door before shutting himself in his room. He was still wearing his nice slacks and black button down when he crawled underneath his bed, trying to hide from the world where Frank wasn’t there.

It became a habit. When he got in a fight with Bill in the first grade, he laid there like a stone, trying to force himself to think of anything but the argument. It was stupid, he couldn’t remember what they had fought about, but it had hurt. He was drawn out from under the bed by Sonia yelling that he had a phone call. He and Bill had made up by the next day at recess. 

In 5th grade he felt alone. Stan had made a new friend, catching both Bill and Stan off guard. Richie was loud, much too loud to be able to exist on the same plane as Stan. He laughed loud, joked loud, and Eddie felt small. Stan replaced him. He came out from under the bed when he heard the doorbell ring. 

_ “Eds! Staniel and Billiam are too busy with their families,” Richie had rolled his eyes as if it was an outlandish thing to enjoy your family’s company. “It’s you and me! That futuristic movie with the guy and the car is playing. Whatdaya say?”  _

_ Eddie had gaped at him. _

_ “Come oooon,” he whined impatiently. He held up a small but crumpled stack of bills. “It’s on me! Well, my mom really, but still!” _

_ Eddie took a moment to process. “Don’t call me Eds.” Richie’s face fell for a second but then he perked up. “I need to tell my mom. Wait here.” Richie had grinned at him excitedly and Eddie couldn’t help but give a small smile back.  _

__ Richie didn’t turn out to be that bad. Movies became their thing, but it became more their thing to get kicked out because of Richie’s excessive whispering and loud commentaries during D-List films. He wasn’t as bad as Eddie thought.

Freshman year he hid because of some senior bullies. He told them he wasn’t gay. He didn’t know why they thought he was, but that didn’t stop the crude comments and offensive slurs that were flung like whips and shoved through the grates of his locker. He didn’t come out for dinner, ignoring Sonia’s verbal assault through the door. He laid there until it was almost midnight and a steady tapping on the window forced him to see what it was. Richie was balancing on the branch outside his window with a flimsy mesh bag in his arms.

_ “What are you doing here?” Eddie hissed praying his mother didn’t hear the crack from the branch when Richie lunged through the window, tumbling onto the wood floor with leaves in his hair. _

_ “You weren’t at the soda shop after school. Bev said you weren’t feeling well so I figured,” he turned pink and he gestured towards the bag. “DC had a few new issues so I thought they might help.” He pulled the comics out of the bag and awkwardly threw them on the bed. He said something else, softer, but Eddie couldn’t hear what it was. _

_ Eddie was touched, and he felt something else too but he couldn’t quite place it. He pulled a few of the leaves from his dark curls, letting them float out of his still open window. _

_ “Thanks, Rich.” _

Richie started showing up at his window more frequently after that, always with something his mother would never approve of. Sugary drinks, artificial candies, violent comics, and Richie became a normal part of most of his nights, they would read or talk or whisper until the sun started to rise, then Richie would leave, practically falling out the window to avoid the wrath of Sonia Kaspbrak if she realized her son had a late night visitor.

This time he wasn’t sulking because of the world though. He wasn’t trying to hide from the critical stares of his peers, or bullies, or the world. He just wanted to hide from himself. 

He had just graduated, along with Stan and Ben. Richie and Mike had graduated the year before, but still had loose ends to tie up before they left for their futures. Bev and Bill had a head start. They’ve been in California for a year now, patiently waiting for the oversized flat to start feeling like a home. Bev was studying fashion in a small liberal women’s college, and from the letters they sent, Bill was balancing a million different day jobs to fund his first book. He wanted so bad to be there. He wanted to meet their roommate, Kay, who he’s heard so much about. He wanted to road trip down with Richie, Stan, and Ben, and he wanted to be there waiting when Mike got there, after selling the farm. He wanted them to be the  _ Losers  _ again. 

It seemed like everyone had a plan, a promising future. Everyone except him. He had been clawing through life until then, trying to escape the clutches of his mother, avoid the rumors on the bathroom stalls, and he  _ never thought he’d make it this far. _ Richie had a job lined up at a radio station, some sort of late-night-music-meets-comedy talk show gig that he was perfect for. Ben had an aunt with a friend who had hooked him up with an apprenticeship, and it was a  _ damn good opportunity _ too as Ben had said. He was gonna be the next biggest architect in the San Francisco Bay area. Eddie knew it. Stan had a full-ride scholarship and a plan, and Eddie may have had a scholarship but didn’t know what he was even going to study.

He was really trying to stay calm, trying to think rationally, but he was hanging on by a thread. And on top of the uncertainty of the unknown, his mom didn’t even  _ know _ he was going to be moving across the country. Just thinking about her reaction sent Eddie crawling back into a shell, dreading the cries she would weaponize to try to get him to stay. 

Richie took him into town earlier in the day. He wanted to stop in the record shop, and Eddie couldn’t say no. Eddie was flipping through some secondhand Fleetwood Mac vinyls. 

“Come on, Eds,” Richie was reaching onto the top shelf to pull down a Pink Floyd record that was on display. Eddie pretended he wasn’t looking at the strip of skin between his jeans and his weathered t-shirt. “Just don’t tell her, she can’t hurt what she doesn’t know.”

Eddie was too tired of the topic to respond with anything more than a slight annoyance. “It’s not that simple. And don’t call me that.” He settles on the least battered copy of  _ Rumours _ and handed it to Richie who had a pile already started on the floor a few feet away. Richie added it to the stack and turned towards him, grabbing his shoulders. 

Seriously, he looked him in the eye. “I get it that you don’t want to tell her, I do, I mean,” Eddie saw the mischievous look in his eye and he knew what was coming. “After I’m gone,  _ no one _ is going to fuck her!” Eddie shrieked and slapped his shoulder. 

“Eddie, my love, I’m just saying, I wouldn’t let me go either!” Richie was cackling to himself.

“You idiot,” Eddie groaned. “How are you going to keep a job as the comedic relief if your entire repertoire consists of ‘mom jokes’.” He put a dramatic hand on his forehead, leaning back like a damsel in distress. “I’m going to be living with an unemployed jackass for my entire college career.” 

“Eds, I’m only going to be one of those things,” he promised. Eddie rolled his eyes, but let Richie throw his arm around Eddie's shoulders. 

“Yeah, I guess no matter how much of a jackass you are, you’re too stubborn to let yourself get fired.”

“You wound me! I am a  _ delight _ to work with.”

“If that’s what you want to call it,” Eddie snorted and Richie chuckled.

He went to go pay and Eddie wandered to the front of the store, flipping through a magazine on the stand. The cover was a brightly printed portrait of David Bowie, titled  _ The Life of Ziggy Stardust. _ He flipped through it until it fell open to a story about the AIDS epidemic.

“Hey, you ready to split?” Richie had a plastic bag thrown over his shoulder, practically ripping from the number of records inside. Eddie slammed the magazine closed, clumsily shoving it back on the shelf.

“Yeah,” Eddie started to push the door open when Bowers and his gang walked by. Henry shoved the door closed, sending Eddie tumbling back into Richie. Patrick started making kissy faces through the glass, like a small child taunting a fish in an aquarium, and Henry said something, though muffled by the glass, Eddie already knew what it was. 

Richie shoved past Eddie through the door, already trying to chase them down, but Eddie grabbed his shirt by the garishly patterned collar.

“Rich, it isn’t worth it.”  
Richie called up the street. “Pretty bold for someone with a fucking rat tail.” Henry turned around for a second, making a crude gesture before turning back around.

Richie fixed his glasses, crooked from when Eddie knocked into him and sighed.

“You know, they may be reincarnates of Satan’s asshole, but when we’re skimming beaches, they’ll be licking pavement here in Hell, Maine.” Eddie nodded silently, still trying to recover from the fall, and too shaken to scold him for his colorful imagery. As they turned to walk in the other direction, the woman behind the counter gave him a sympathetic smile. 

“Do you still want to stop by the-”  
“My mom thinks I’m gay.” Eddie couldn’t stop himself from blurting it out. He looked around, praying no one else heard. The only possible suspect was a pigeon pecking at a broken cracker near the sewer grate. They stopped walking. 

Richie didn’t know what to say. Eddie instantly regretted it.  _ Stupid. _ A million thoughts of Richie hating him, or just leaving or a lightning bolt from God appearing from the sky and smiting him for even suggesting it out loud sent him into a ramble.

“She’s just been leaving these _pamphlets_ around the house? Like all the things from church? And I don’t know what to do and I can’t talk to her about it because you know how she is! And it’s like she told the entire church, every Sunday feels like judgment day and I hate it! It’s like she’s trying to ‘pray the gay away’ or whatever the preacher’s been saying and I can’t deal-”  
“Are you?” Richie didn’t look mad. He didn’t look concerned. Eddie felt his chest tightening and he shook his head rapidly, before letting his shoulders slump.

“I don’t know.”  _ Yes. _

Richie started walking again, and Eddie watched him, unsure if he should follow. The thump in his chest felt like a rubber mallet behind his rib cage. He looked on and Richie stopped and looked back.

“Aren’t you coming? I think my mom got ice cream, I’m she knows you like strawberry because no one else in our house does but she won’t stop buying it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie felt slight relief that he wasn’t mad and he wasn’t  _ gone _ but that didn’t change that his actions were  _ unreadable.  _ They walked in silence.

When they got back Richie dropped the bag of records on his unkempt bed.

“Choose a record, Eds, any record, I’ll be back with frozen gold,” and he was gone before Eddie could respond.

Eddie rifled through the mish mash of genres, and settled on  _ Queen _ . He wrinkled his nose as he swiped a pile of laundry (clean or dirty was unknown to him) to the ground and replaced some sort of grunge album. He didn’t know who it was, but it looked new, the sleek black cover had a yellow smiley face on the front, with ‘X’s for eyes. Richie came back with two single serving tubs of ice cream in his arms, and two spoons. He tossed the spoon to Eddie who caught it before it left a dent in the drywall, and held up a pink tub.

“See, I told you! I think she’s purposefully buying full sugar too, we feast like kings, Eds!” He crowed holding the tubs like torches in the air. Eddie laughed at his foolishness, hoping they were just going to pretend his breakdown on the sidewalk never happened. 

Richie crossed his legs on the bed patting the spot across from him. Eddie joined him. 

“You know, I don’t care who you like, right?”

Eddie looked up at him.

“Well, like, if you liked a complete asshole, like worst than me, I’d probably have to object a bit, but it doesn’t matter if you’re gay.” Eddie stared at him and chewed on his lip.  _ What if I do like a complete asshole? _

“I don’t know if I am.”  _ I am. _

Richie shrugged, shoveling the rest of the moose tracks into his mouth, and then talking with his mouth full. “That’s okay too.” He swallowed and Eddie looked at his Adam's apple then looked away.  _ Oh my  _ god. 

“Didn’t your mother teach you not to talk with your mouth full?”

“Your mother taught me a lot of things,” he wiggled his eyebrows, breaking Eddie out of his shell, and his giggle turned into a full blown laugh. 

“God, you are  _ terrible _ ,” but he couldn’t stop laughing, no matter how terrible the joke was. 

“Shut up, this is the good song,” Richie scolded, pretending to be scandalized, and threw the empty ice cream tubs to the trash can, missing and landing instead in yet another pile of hideous hawaiian shirts. He pulled Eddie over so they could lie down without having feet in their faces, and they settled down, laying next to each other. Richie had an arm thrown above Eddie’s head, and Eddie’s leg was lying over one of Richie’s.

They lay like that for awhile, and Eddie knew he was going to have to leave soon, before the sun started to set and he had to drag his 18 year old self home before his mother’s curfew.

“Thank you, Rich. Really.”  
Richie didn’t respond, just moved the arm down to wrap around Eddie’s shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug.

Eddie hugged him back feeling better than he had in a long time. 

Then he went home.

* * *

Sonia was waiting, at the kitchen table. 

“Eddie, dear, where have you been all day?” 

He knew something had to be wrong. 

“I told you when I left, I went to the record store with Richie,” Eddie replied cautiously, and as soon as he came into view of the table, he saw what she had. His acceptance letter was sitting in the center, along with the welcome letter, and informative papers he got when accepting his offer.

She was mad.

“When, exactly were you going to tell me about this?” she asked, her voice tight, like she had a snake or a monster in her throat fighting to get out.

“I was going to soon, I promise I-”

“I am your  _ mother _ ,” she spit, standing as her voice rose. “How were you planning on hiding this from me? Were you going to just, just,” she spluttered. “Just  _ leave? _ ”

Eddie tried to sink into the wall, blend in with the fading wallpaper and disappear.

“And California? Really Eddie? I thought you had some self respect? Do you know how many,” she paused before whispering, like it was a secret that had to be hidden. “ _ How many queers there are? _ ” Eddie was going to be sick. The worst case scenario he could imagine was already happening. She was going to find out. She was going to send a letter to the college, telling them he couldn’t go, and she was going to keep him here like a caged animal.  _ No. _

“I’m going, mom,” he tried to keep his voice steady, but it still shook.

“I  _ need _ you, Eddie.” The tears were coming. “How do you expect me to live knowing your  _ all the way _ across the country with  _ who knows? _ ” Eddie tried to back towards the hallway, towards the stairs.

“Is it that boy you're always with? He’s corrupting you, Eddie, I  _ know _ you! Are your friends going to take care of you like I can? You need me, Eddie!” 

Eddie felt a lump in his throat trying to fight it down the best he could.

“I can’t believe you let  _ him _ do this to you, he’s-”

“Mom, I’m going,” Eddie was moving quicker now, but he stopped at the foot of the stairs, looking down the hallway at her. “I promise I’ll call and write, but I’m going. I’m going with my friends and you can’t stop me.” 

He turned and practically sprinted up the stairs, trying to ignore the wails of  _ Eddie-bear, please _ and slammed his door trying to put a barrier between them.

And now here he is. Under his bed, trying to tell himself he doesn’t really need his mother’s approval anyway, and that it’s fine that she’s probably going to try to emotionally manipulate him until the day that he dies (or she dies). 

He thought about the way the priest during sunday mass always seemed to look at him when the topic of the day was marriage or homosexuality, or anything else “perverse in nature”.

The longer he tried to suppress the tears, the stronger they became until they were falling silently, snaking their way down, wetting his hairline, and choking him. He let them fall, refusing to do anymore fighting, and then he stared into the darkness, until a steady tapping on the window jarred his focus. 

It was Richie. 

Eddie helped him in, trying to make as little noise as possible. This time he didn’t have anything with him, just a concerned look on his face. Eddie didn’t quite know what to say.

“I just,” he faltered. “Felt like you might need someone.”  _ You. _

“Yeah.”

They didn’t do much talking, just laid together in the dark, waiting for the storm to pass.

* * *

“I want to leave,” Eddie said, flicking another pebble over the ledge, waiting to see if he would hear it splash into the quarry. It didn’t.

“Then let’s go,” Richie responded, matter-of-factly.

“How can you just say that?”

“Why not?” Richie looked confused. “You're miserable here. I’m miserable that you're miserable. Boom boom, bam bam, we’re out of here and our problems are gone.”

Eddie laughed to himself at the simplicity of the plan, praying it could be that simple.

“Yeah, just up and leave with nothing but a destination, sure,” Eddie snorted, but Richie’s face was set.

“I’ve essentially got a job in Cali right from the bat, I can deal with the necessities until you can start school and then maybe you can get a job on campus. I’m sure you can cancel your housing contract somehow, and then we can room, just like we talked about in middle school.”

“You sound like you’ve been thinking about this for a while.”

“Yeah,” Richie confessed. “We’ve wanted to get out for so long and then I guess it just... All fell into place?” He looked away over the horizon to the big fluffy clouds in the distance. Eddie thought about it and it  _ did _ make sense. He could leave without his mother trying to stop him if he did it before she was expecting, and they could really  _ truly _ be free if this hell-town once and for all.

“When could we leave?” 

Richie hummed for a second, thinking, and then he said, “I already put my two weeks, and my last shift is Friday. We can have one last mini meeting at Mike’s farm and then take The Clunker and get out of dodge?”

Eddie fondly thought about the horribly rickety car Richie drove and its awful nickname, before he realized what Richie said.

“You put in your two weeks?! You didn’t even know if I would say yes.” Eddie couldn’t believe how impulsive that sounded.

“But you did say yes!” Even though Eddie technically didn’t say yes, they both knew what his answer was going to be.  _ Yes. _

They spent the next few days covertly planning a cross-country road trip. Richie called Bev, and she ecstatically opened their couch for them until they could find their own place. She told them all about the area, how welcoming and bright everything was, and how happy she was to finally see them again. Ben wasn’t going to leave until later in the summer. His aunt was visiting from the coast, and she was going to drive him back with her. He contributed a couple road maps,  _ Places to See _ pamphlets for along the way, and some mixtape cassettes with a mix of new and old pop music that Richie accepted graciously and put in the glove department with the rest of his collection. Stan gave Eddie a couple of his old books to read on the way for when things got slow, and dug a cooler out of his basement which they thought fit perfectly in the station wagon. Mike donated a couple gas cans which Richie was reluctant to take, but Mike promised he would get them back when he met them, and warned they would definitely need them while driving through the large expanses of midwest when they couldn’t find a gas station. He also slipped a cassette into the glove compartment, when they weren’t looking, with some 50s rock and roll. 

Friday morning Eddie began to pack. He knew he didn’t need much. He had a duffle from his dad, when they used to go to the beach as a family, and he shoved clothes, toiletries, all the essentials in it until he was satisfied. 

Doing one last sweep through his drawers he found his old inhaler. The thing could’ve been mistaken for new, still shiny and barely out of the package before he had decided he never wanted to need it again. He wanted to put it in the bag, nestled between his socks and shampoo, but he used every bit of willpower to push down the anxiety he felt by looking at it and placed it on the top of his night stand for his mother to find, along with the note explaining  _ I’m safe, please don’t try to find me, I’ll call when I can _ . Shoving the duffle under his bed, he finally relaxed. 

Richie came over that night, and they ran through last minute details. Richie already had all his things in his car, and he offered to take Eddie’s duffle when he left, to which Eddie gratefully agreed, glad to not have to sneak another thing past his mother. 

In the morning, he dressed to travel, soft red shorts, and an oversized cable-knit sweater over a  _ Thundercats _ t-shirt he stole from Richie before he could throw it in the trash for being too small. He kissed his mother goodbye, and silently prayed to whatever god would listen that she would forgive him  _ somehow. _ She looked suspicious when he said he was going to Mike’s farm, but didn’t question, still hoping to win him back. On the bike ride there, he let himself get lost in his head, thinking about everything he and Richie were going to see once they escaped. 

By the time he had ridden up the gravel path, Richie and Ben were already there. Them and Mike were sitting in the shade of the barn. Richie looked tired, but Mike was saying something to him with a small smile, making him chuckle. Ben turned and waved to Eddie, catching the other’s attention.

“Eds, darling, I’m glad you’ve decided to finally join us,” Richie called to him using an atrocious southern accent. 

Eddie sat between Richie and Mike. The grass was longer here, and it tickled his bare legs, making him shiver. 

“Are you really wearing this thing in June?” Richie questioned him, pinching the baggy sleeve of the sweater. 

“I was cold,” he defended himself, swatting at his hands. 

“Richie was just telling me about your guys' big plans,” Mike teased, and Eddie eyed Richie, who was turning red. It was probably just the sun burning in his pale skin. 

Eddie shrugged. 

“I mean they aren’t  _ huge _ plans, we were just thinking we would take our time to stop at touristy places on the way, you know, like tourists.” Richie was picking at the grass by Eddie’s knee, before sprinkling it over Eddie’s hair like green snow. 

“Ugh, do you know how many bugs are probably on these,” he tried to swipe the grass off, but before he could Richie was whipping something big and black from behind him, pointing at Eddie and with a  _ Click! _ he snapped a picture of his scowl. Richie grinned from behind the polaroid camera, and Eddie pretended he didn’t notice the look Ben and Mike shared, when he crawled over to look at the developing picture that Richie was shaking furiously.

Stan appeared then, a bit out of breath, with rosey cheeks like he jogged the last leg of the journey. 

“Stan the Man!” Richie shot up, sending Eddie tumbling back into the grass, and he kicked at Richie’s bony ankles. Stan greeted them and the frowned down at Eddie, who was dramatically laying in the grass like a corpse. 

“Richie, I think you killed him.”

Richie scoffed. “He’s fine, but nonetheless,” he slipped into an english accent, holding an empty hand in the air like it held a skull. “Methinks a corpse may add style to the journey ahead.” Eddie jumped up and tackled him to the ground. Stan sat on the other side of Mike, rolling his eyes fondly. 

“While I will be missing the both of you,” Stan said, “I think being able to hang out without seeing a physical fight for a few months will be refreshing, to say the least.” 

“Staniel, you wound me!” Richie rolled off of Eddie, and they both took a second to catch their breath. “Don’t you know? I need you like I need air.” He reached out for Stans hand.

“And I need you like a snail needs salt,” Stan deadpanned, and Richie mimed taking a bullet to the heart, falling again in the grass. Stan took the opportunity to turn to Eddie.

“Where’s the famous road trip going to take you first?”

Eddie thought for a second.

“I actually don’t know,” he used his converse to nudge Richie’s thigh. “Most of the places Ben recommended are closer to California, so until then, we’ll probably just stop at the most interesting places first.” Stan nodded. 

“I really am going to miss you guys.” The mood turned somber. It hadn’t really hit Eddie that they were saying goodbye to their friends  _ again  _ for the time being. He looked around at the small group.

“I’m gonna miss you guys, too.” Eddie looked over to Richie and he nodded, saying “Me too.”

They spent the rest of the morning talking about what they would do once the Losers club reunites. The farm finally had a buyer, and once that was finalized, Mike planned to detour to Florida to meet with some old family friends before going cross country. He said he didn’t care where he was as long as the sun was shining, and Richie agreed, glancing at Eddie, who was too busy picking some lint off Stan’s sleeve.

They ate lunch on Mike’s porch, and before finally leaving Derry, Mike presented them with one last gift. It was a package wrapped with newspaper, and when Richie flipped the tag over, it was from Stan and Ben too.

The three of them watched impatiently. Richie laughed at their expressions.

“You’re acting like  _ you _ don’t know what it is.” Stan leaned back.

“Richie, if you don’t hurry up, I will force you to myself.” 

Eddie swatted at Richie, who was pulling the tag string off comedically slow, and yanked the tag off before gesturing to hurry up. Richie sighed dramatically, and pulled the newspaper off in one smooth sweep. 

It was a book. Kind of. It had a hard cover, but instead of a title, it was just printed with the pattern of a map, like one of the old ones Bill used to have hanging in his garage.

Eddie reached over, and ran a finger down it’s sturdy spine. 

“I know it’s not the best kind of scrapbook, but we thought you could document what you find?” Ben trailed off. 

“Yeah, man, you can put all the pictures and things you find along the way.” Mike watched their faces, gauging their reactions.

“Even feathers, if you find any,” Stan added hopefully.

Richie opened the book and on the first few pages, there were letters from the three of their friends, that he knew would make him tear up if he read them now.

“Wow, this is really,” Richie looked up at them, at a loss for words.

“I know it’s not the best for the short notice, but we just wanted-” Eddie cut Ben off.

“It’s perfect, thank you.” Eddie pulled them into a tight hug and Richie joined, as they said their last goodbyes. At least, for now.

Richie and Eddie pulled out of the driveway, the book a weight in Eddie’s lap, feeling both a little heavier, and a little lighter too.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to come say hi on my tumblr @maybewewererotten or at least think about it once I have filled it's void!


End file.
